


The Courting of Aramis Stilton

by Emby_M



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Aramis is out of his depth but still very happy, Awkward Romance, Courtship, M/M, Slow Burn Ish, lots of feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:44:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9825068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emby_M/pseuds/Emby_M
Summary: Being courted was new.[Aramis and his courtship with Theodanis.]





	1. Flowers in a Pitcher

Being courted was new.

Having Jaime usher someone in for them to deliver a great bouquet of flowers and a note, scented with the deep, woody perfume Theodanis wore — That was new.

But, he thinks, as he arranges the blooms in a ceramic pitcher, entirely too distracted to find a proper vase, that it is nice. And giving him a chance to take breaks, which Jaime is happy about.

It still isn’t quite real.

Of course, Theodanis was Duke, and therefore busy, so the two of them hadn’t been able to see each other. That aside, Aramis had his own bundle of work, visiting the mines, and the miners, speaking with scientists and inventors. Spending long hours at his desk, thinking. Remembering.

The note — he reads that in bed, almost asleep — carries the same kindness that Theodanis’s voice does. The scent — mysterious, smoky, but clear — tingles in his nose.

_Aramis._

_I hope this letter finds you well. I am told you often forget to eat. Please don’t forget to._

_The Palace is dull without you here. I found my mind wandering to your explanations the other day, your pretty flushing skin, the way you brightened when you knew you were not boring me. You could never bore me, I think._

_I am finding myself uncertain these days. Uncertain that I am doing the right thing. Not of my choice in partners! Rest assured, no, I don’t regret this, at all. But I have not had to woo much in my life. Callas was chosen for me when I was quite young, and any… trysts I might have had were convinced by my name, not my character or romantic charms. If I am too pushy please tell me. Or if I do something uncouth. It’s quite strange to feel so perplexed. It’s like my chest and throat are buzzing. Do you feel that sometimes as well?_

_These flowers are simple, but when I saw them I thought of you, so I had to send them off immediately. The gardener tells me a change of water every day will keep them fresh for a week. I hope to send you more before they wilt._

_Affectionately,_

_Theodanis_

Aramis feels warm. Pleasantly — not like the hot washes of shame and guilt and fear he feels when under the scrutiny of nobles, but a warm suffusion of heat through his chest.

He’ll pen a response in the morning, he thinks. Thank him for the flowers and his concern. Tell him he’s been thinking about Theodanis as much, his soft, kind eyes, the gentleness of his fingertips. The care with which he treats Aramis.

He falls asleep with the letter folded under his hand, like a charm.

 

* * *

 

Aramis forgets, unfortunately, to respond at all. When he wakes Jaime is already there, urging him up because there has been a accident in a mine, and he needs to be there.

He throws on pants, an old shirt, runs to the mines with his sleeves rolled up and no tie and his scruff unshaven. His thick boots — left over from his mining days — hug his feet like his fine shoes do not.

“What’s the situation?” His voice booms when he arrives - a volume he never considers anywhere else, his accent untempered.

“Three trapped, Aram!” Someone throws his way, and it’s like he’s back in the mines, that those are his comrades; quite frankly, they never stopped being his comrades.

“Well has anyone done anything about it?”

“There was a gas leak- and then an explosion!” A rattled miner tells him, “They’re trapped-“

“Come on then!” Aramis directs them, grabbing one of the drill setups himself, “Let’s ventilate them, then try and get ‘em out.”

It’s a few minutes to get some ventilation drilled in there — and those trapped are alive and at least one is conscious; their voice rings clear, if distant.

“No one try to smoke!” Aramis yells up, partially laughing when he hears someone’s voice, “We’re getting you out, alright?”

“Peio passed out, Aram!” The voice says, echoing through the mineshaft.

“Someone get an air bell!” He shouts, behind him, the growl of his syllables deep and base. Someone throws him the hose, and he climbs up to where the ventilation holes are drilled, over the men who work on getting the blockage cleared away.

“Ol Billygoat’s gotcha!” Yells up another miner, referring to Aramis’s nimbleness on rocky precipices. At the top of the rockpile, Aramis is perched, and he turns back around and barks a laugh. He listens for the voices of his employees.

He feeds the airhose through, telling the voice to attach the mask to Peio’s mouth. Then he gets the other workers to pump the air through.

“You tell me if you’re getting faint, okay?”

“Yessir!”

It takes a couple rough hours to get everyone out — in that time, the other miner - an older gentleman, the one who didn’t speak - suffered an attack of claustrophobia, and he had to do some emergency counseling. He was familiar with the panic of cave-ins, and so the gentleman managed to calm down again. Peio woke back up, which was thankful, and the voice — belonging to a young woman named Augustine — kept the other miners confident that they would be okay.

When the three finally emerge, a mismatched crew, Aramis ushers them to the medical tent, aboveground.

The onsite doctor reports no lasting damage, aside from a few days of disorientation for Peio, who inhaled much of the methane.

Aramis asks him to take those days, recover. A disoriented miner was a danger to himself, and others, he explains.

The man seems hesitant, but accepts. And Aramis sends him home with Augustine so he will get back safely. The older gentleman, also from Morley, weeps into his linen shirt, his terror and relief clear. Aramis comforts him, tells him that the mine is not kind but his fellow miners are.

Once everything is in order again, as much as it could be, Aramis allocates the rest of the tasks to a small group of senior miners he trusted with his life.

The tiredness nags at him, from being woken up so early, but he trudges through the Batista district, back to his newly-erected mansion. Now that the danger has passed, Aramis takes the back roads, hoping no one sees the telltale stripes of his shirt, the thick clunkiness of his boots.

When he enters through the kitchen door, one of the maids greets him, somewhat startled.

“In the mines, sir?”

“Ah, yes,” he says, accent tempered again, looking down and noticing the thick wash of grime and dirt on his shirt and trousers and hands, “I’ll go… wash.”

“Let me fetch someone, sir-“

“No, no need. I know how to run a bath. Thank you though.”

She’s left mildly confused in his wake. His insistence on doing most things by himself seemed to baffle his staff, but the fact was he didn’t quite feel comfortable having anyone attend so closely. Didn’t enjoy feeling like a burden. Things like giving tasks over to people if he were too busy, that he could do, but he was free for now, and everyone else seemed so occupied. So it was simple in Aramis’s mind.

He runs the bath, like he promises, washing the grime off in the sink first, scrubbing his face and his hands deeply. He still can’t quite get the black out from under his nails.

He soaks after that, meditating deeply on the issue. How to sense the pockets of gas? How to be able to tell them immediately? Could he ban smoking in the mines, to prevent the explosions? But so much of what they did could set off a spark of some sort, and the whole issue would start again. Not only that, but the gas itself was dangerous.

Would more supports keep the walls from collapsing? But no, because the force of explosion was inexorable. He sinks deeply into the warm water, pondering seriously.

“Uh, Misser Stilton?” Jaime’s voice interrupts his thinking.

Aramis jumps slightly, and answers, “Yes?”

“Ah, the Duke is here to see you?”

Oh no.

“Tell him I’ll be there in a moment! Oh dear,” he says, climbing hurriedly out of the bath, “Have him… have him wait in the room with the piano!”

Aramis slips into his bedroom quietly, trying to find his nicest shirt and pants. His hair — is unruly, as always, uncooperative to the towel attempting to dry it. He tries desperately to comb it into place but there’s nothing for it, so he just goes out. Jaime makes him put on a coat, but urges him along.

“He looks bothered, sir,” Jaime says, low, like Aramis had to fix it somehow.

“Your Eminence, Aramis is here.” Jaime says, and then quickly ducks out of the room.

“Oh, Duke Theo-“

Theodanis crosses the room quickly, pulling Aramis into an embrace. And then, just as quickly, pulls back from him.

“You’re alright.” Theo says, gripping his arms, his face calm but the grip Theo’s hands take betraying his worry.

“Yes… why?”

Theo breathes out. “I heard about the mine accident?”

Aramis furrows his brow.

Theodanis is silent for a moment, lips hanging open, eyes straying to the side.

“I- You weren’t _in_ it, were you?”

“No,” Aramis says, smiling a little bit.

“Oh,” Theodanis says, and it’s the first time a bit of color has suffused into his high, dusky cheeks. “I… oh.”

It’s rather… endearing to see the Duke like this. A normally so unflappable man, suddenly shaken up at the possibility that he might have been hurt.

“No, I simply helped. Everyone was fine. No casualties.” Aramis says, trying to keep the lilt of pleasure out of his voice.

Theodanis smiles a little bit, like it was the first time he’d been embarrassed. “That’s good. Your work is admirable, as always.”

And then Theo is silent a moment, and murmurs, “There’s that buzzing feeling again.”

Aramis is lost, and then recalls the letter.

“Damn,” he curses, and Theodanis snaps his face to him.

“Do I displease?” he says.

“Oh- oh no! I just… forgot to write you back. I meant to yesterday but I fell asleep. I just remembered.”

Theodanis laughs, and strokes his shoulder gently. “No matter. I’m here now.”

“That won’t do-“ Aramis tries to say, but Theodanis is shaking his head and slipping his hand down to take Aramis’s.

“You can just give me your reply.”

The softness of Theodanis’s fingers is pleasant. Aramis tries to tug out of it, spare the gentle skin of Theo the bite of his calluses, but Theodanis’s grip is firm.

“I was happy to get the flowers,” He says, mildly, “I think they’re in a ceramic pitcher right now.”

Theodanis guffaws, like the thought caught him off guard.

“A pitcher,” He says, through his laughter.

Aramis feels the heat flooding his cheeks, somewhere between the hot wash of shame and the pleasant warmth he felt at the letter last night.

“It was the only thing I had in that room. And I would have gotten distracted trying to find a good vase for them.”

“That’s _marvelous,_ ” Theodanis breathes.

Aramis feels more heat flush into his cheeks, but this is more of the pleasant variety.

“The letter was lovely. I think you’re doing fine. I - I’ve never been courted either, so. We’ll just have to follow our hearts? And of course tell me if anything I do is too rough.”

Theo smiles, and there’s a soft, wicked edge to it.

“Perhaps I’d like a little roughness,” he says, voice low and murmuring.

Aramis feels a shock of warmth in his belly, and the smile falls off his face.

“Ah,” Theo says, his expression shifting to one of mild horror, “Perhaps _that_ was uncouth.”

Aramis laughs, softly, squeezing Theodanis’s hand. It wasn't uncouth, just unexpected, maybe tantalizing. But Aramis pushes it aside. “Would you like to see the flowers? Since they made you laugh so much?”

Theodanis’s smile returns. “I would.”


	2. Interlude #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is Aramis's best friend, so he wants to be in the know and support his bud.  
> If you picture Jaime as Diego Luna, life gets great.  
> Bigger chapter coming up -- I'm maybe about 1/3 to 1/2 through it.

Jaime looks at him from across the small table.

“Sir,” He says, “Are you, er, with the Duke?”

Aramis flicks his eyes up from his dinner.

“Uh. Yes. Sort of,” Aramis says, not quite sure where this interest comes from. But he’d never lie to Jaime.

“Oh, okay.”

“Why?”

“Just was wondering why he was around so much.”

“We’re-“ and Aramis is still stuck on this word, finding it strange in his mouth, “Courting.”

Jaime nods, solemnly. “Makes sense.”

Jaime is neutral when he says it. Jaime of course understood him better than some of the other servants, the ones borrowed from the noble’s pool, since he himself was a miner. Jaime was unobtrusive, knew how to instruct and guide without deriding.

“Do you find it — odd?” Aramis says.

“No, sir. Don’t much care for passin’ judgement.”

“That’s fair.”

They both tuck into their food again.

“Do you enjoy his affections, sir?”

That question catches him off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem a little happier. Y’eat more. Smile more.”

“Do I?” Aramis reaches up and touches his face, as if discovering he had cheeks the first time.

“Yeah.”

Aramis feels his cheek, faintly stubbled, and smiles a little.

“It’s nice,” Aramis says, and Jaime nods, slightly.


	3. A Southern Serkonian Meal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out I can write about food a lot... this is actually only the first half or even the first third. I just thought I should give some update.  
> The meal is basically a full course Italian meal but I um. Know a lot about food so there is going to be a lot of food details.

Jaime doesn’t say anything, when Aramis goes out in a pretty new jacket, just hands him a small carved bit of jade, like an amulet.

Aramis thanks him, the beautiful carved facets of the little talisman perfect for Theodanis.

Aramis could take a private railcar, but he prefers to get into one already almost full — the surround of bodies make the trip less foreboding. A private car felt too dignified, too elevating. With others around him, it was more comfortable, more as though he was going somewhere incidentally than _arriving._

He inspects the bit of jade while the train goes, admiring its sinuous but masculine facets — it was round and flat, but carved in a lovely style — carved in the shape of an ox. It looked a bit like a cameo, at least in shape and framing, but it was solid jade, smoothed and polished.

Maybe Theo would like it. He was certainly too polite to say he hated it, which would spare Aramis some hurt.

But Aramis imagines Theo excited at it, like _he_ was when he saw it being made, when he bought it. Theo would thank him — comment that the ox felt like a sigil of Stilton himself, a tough broad-shouldered beast who could be so docile and, especially, useful.

Before long he needs to get off, so he hands the driver a careful tip, and the man tips his hat.

The dock is full of ferries, but he’s not looking for a boat today; instead he waits for Theodanis to appear.

The docks are so lively, filled with people and dockhands moving. The sea is pretty today, and the weather is fine, a slight chill in the air but the sun very warm.

“Pardon,” someone says, tapping his shoulder.

Aramis definitely recognizes the person, but can’t place the acquaintance. The beard and the hair were familiar, but styled differently than he thinks it should be.

Aramis screws up his eyebrows, trying to figure it out. The broad smile on the other’s face drops, replaced by a look of confusion.

“I don’t look that different, do I?” The man says, and the soft roundness of the vowels place the man immediately as Duke Theodanis.

“Oh! Duke Theodanis!” Aramis gasps, slightly.

The Duke’s longish hair is pulled back neatly at the base of his skull, and the looser clothing he wears — something approaching a middle class garb — fits him tremendously well. His beard, too, is trimmed a touch shorter, and it gives him a more youthful, charming look.

“Have I been gone so long so as to have you forget me?” Theodanis says, smiling.

“No- Just, your appearance threw me.”

“I thought I would try something new,” he says, fiddling with the loose ends of his ponytail.

“You look wonderful!” Aramis says, partially to ease Theodanis’s worried look, but partially because he simply thinks so. “You look so dashing,” Aramis adds.

Theodanis smiles, scrubbing at his beard.

Theodanis extends his crooked arm, and shyly, Aramis takes it.

“Where are we going?” Aramis says, settling his other hand fondly against Theodanis’s arm.

“A little place I know. Very intimate. Informal. I figured you might like that better.”

Aramis wants to believe it’s a jab at him, that he doesn’t have any manners, that he’s clumsy and oafish, but it so patently isn’t that it makes the little voice in him quiet.

“What’s it like?”

“Have you had a Southern Serkonian meal before?”

“Um, no. At least, I don’t think so.”

“You will tonight. I have a wonderful chef friend who runs the full courses from her home.”

Aramis smiles a little, and then it falters. “Is there anything special I need to do?”

“Not at all,” Theo smiles, and pats Aramis’s hand affectionately, “You could eat most of the meal with your fingers, even.”

Aramis giggles, leaning against Theo’s shoulder slightly.

The walk is short, by Aramis’s standards, and Theo leads him up a set of stairs and into a lovely apartment, draped in the sort of dark striped fabric he sees everywhere in Karnaca — an entirely different type of stripe from a Morlian one, but still charming. The room smells of food already, and it reminds Aramis he’s hungry.

“Theo,” the chef greets, softly, her creased face pleasant. She might be the Duke’s age, or perhaps a little more. She is short and round and the picture of the Southern Serkonian, with thick deep black hair and a dusky complexion like Theo’s.

“And you must be Aramis,” she says, and extends her hands. For a moment Aramis assumes a handshake, but she pulls him down into a hug, and it sends a flush to his face.

“Oh, he is a lovely Morlian boy, isn’t he,” she says, regarding his reddened cheeks with mild delight and warmth. She claps Theodanis on the shoulder, before turning back to her kitchen.

“This is Luisa Testa. An old friend.”

“More than that, Theo,” she laughs, turning her attention to a small pot on the stovetop, and then back to a counter that faces the two of them.

“Drinks, to start you off. And olives.” She sets two glasses of fizzling light wine on the countertop, tall enough for their heights.

When they take the thin glasses — which Aramis feels like he might break in his roughened hands — Luisa places a low dish full of little different colored olives: red, green, black; pitted, and with the sheen of oil on them. There are pieces of garlic mixed in as well.

He picks one up. He’s only had the sort that you buy from street vendors, brined quickly and dirtily with lye. These already made his mouth water — he had a preference for bitter things, or at least occasionally craved them. The smell of oil and garlic wafts up, and he sets it in his mouth with a delighted crunch.

it gives under his teeth and he finds himself making a noise of delight before he can catch himself.

Theo stares at him, with a smile splitting his face.

“Have you had olives before?” Theo asks.

“Yes, but not- like these,” he says, popping another olive in his mouth, and inadvertently making another noise.

Luisa’s laugh is jovial and warm from the stovetop.

Theo guides him, smiling, to the chairs placed against the counter. He waits for Aramis to sit, and then insists on pushing his chair in for him.

“A gentleman,” Aramis teases, and Theo only adapts an air of pomp, almost self congratulatory.

Luisa sets another plate down, turning to them for a moment, with soft pieces of cheese.

“I made the cheese yesterday. Took a pretty penny to get the buffalo milk, but then my benefactor is so very generous,” she says, jabbing at Theodanis.

“Ah, only the best ingredients for precious Luisa,” Theo says, his profile dashing as he coos at her, “and only the best meal for wonderful Aramis.”

Aramis forces himself to calmly and serenely swallow the olive, because if he didn’t he would have started choking. He sips the fizzing wine sedately.

“How long did these brine, Luisa?” Theo asks, when she comes back to their countertop.

“Four months.”

“They’re wonderful,” Aramis says, smiling.

“Try the cheese.” Luisa says, and Aramis can’t argue with that logic, so he takes a slice, liking how it wilts in his hand from its own weight, and eats it.

It’s a pretty tasting thing, rich and creamy but with a hint of zing, falling apart easily in his mouth. He’s very fond of it.

“You said this was buffalo’s milk? It’s a lot sweeter than goat’s milk.”

Luisa leans forward onto the bar. “It is. Did you grow up with a lot of goat’s product?”

“Yes, some. And sheep. Occasionally cow, but never buffalo.”

“Buffalo is a traditional Southern Serkonian milk source. It creates finer curds and is generally sweeter.”

“How interesting.”

As Luisa talks, Theodanis and Aramis reach for the same olive, their fingers brushing.

Aramis should be embarrassed and yelp and pull away, but he forgets to, describing the cheeses he had in Morley, the pickles he used to prepare with his mum for his da’s lunchpail. Instead, he grabs the olive and rests his hand back on top of Theodanis’s.

“I liked pickling. I liked the heat in the summer, stripping down to my shirtsleeves and helping out my mum. Chopping everything up, fresh as can be from the garden, watching mum keep a watch on all the brine — it was sea salt, we made it ourselves, Morley’s seas are notably brackish. The smell of vinegar and salt and the spices — little tiny pinches of things we managed to get from faraway shops.”

Aramis smiles, and sighs, “If my staff let me touch the food anymore, I’d still do it. But they’re so insistent that I don’t.”

Luisa laughs. “The life of a baron. You can borrow my kitchen if you want.”

“Ah, but I’d have to get my mum to send all the recipes and I couldn’t bear to trouble her with that.”

“Your parents are still around?” Theodanis asks, his smile wide but his eyes mildly troubled.

“Oh sure, mum and da are still as well as ever.”

Theodanis screws up his eyebrows, falling silent and stroking through his beard again.

_A nervous habit?_ Aramis thinks, and feels a thin flutter of fondness against his ribs.

“Should I announce our courtship?” Theodanis says, and the look of nervousness on his face is so endearing that it sends Aramis into a fit of giggles.

“I told you I haven’t done a courtship before!” Theo wails, a look of quiet (or perhaps, not quiet at all) dismay on his face. Luisa is sniggering behind her hand.

“No, no,” Aramis manages to gasp between giggles, “Just… you don’t have to!”

Theodanis pouts.

“My parents don’t know about my preferences anyway,” Aramis says, a soft, aching thing opening in his chest.

Theodanis turns his head back, and cocks his head slightly.

“Very well,” he sighs, “I can understand that.”

Aramis looks at the softness of Theodanis’s eyes, the soft slump of his shoulders, and thinks he sees something of himself, there, the self that wanted anyone to ask so that he could come out and say _I’m gay_. He wasn’t going to lie to anyone, but people just _assumed,_ so it never came up.

“If they come to visit, I’ll invite you along. And if they ask, then we’ll tell them.”

Theodanis looks up, and when their eyes meet, he smiles.

Luisa tends to the pot on the stove as they eat the olives and laugh, switching the topic back to something lighter — the goings-on of court, Aramis’s day, memories of Morley. Aramis tells him about his nickname — Billygoat — and Theodanis insists he has to demonstrate his climbing soon.

“Do you like it?” Theodanis asks, about the climbing itself.

“Oh sure. It’s terrifying at first, but then it becomes like a puzzle. Where can I put my weight, how can I put my weight, if I fall how do I brace myself, those things replace the fear.”

Theodanis nods. “I never got the chance. Couldn’t very well have the future Duke concussing himself in a fall.”

Aramis laughs, still covering Theodanis’s hand with his own. “We can start you on furniture. Used to do that when I was a wee tyke.”

Theodanis smiles. “How ungraceful. The Duke of Serkonos leaping from chair to chair in his study,” and then he giggles, “I would love to see how my court would react. Would it become a craze, perhaps?”

And then it’s Aramis’s turn to laugh, imagining careful nobles in what could approach sports clothing, balancing tentatively on the arms of their overstuffed chairs. The image of Theodanis in his socks and loose Karnacan garb (Aramis fills in some blanks here, he has no reason to believe that Theodanis even would wear that sort of loose trouser) leaping a coffee table brings a wider smile to his face.

“My son used to too,” Luisa says, “Of course now he’s too grown to do it, but it was always endearing. ‘The water has hagfish, mam!’ He used to say.”

Aramis laughs, and threads his and Theodanis’s fingers together.


	4. An Amulet and a Pin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry yall, school kicked my ass this semester.   
> But here I am! This date is so much longer than I thought it was going to be, laughs...

The meal progresses, and Luisa and he talk about food. What she calls “salume” is something they don’t really have a likeness for in Morley, but she does bring out some cheeses that are closer to what he’s always known, and some lovely bread. They talk about sourdough, to Theodanis’s initial revulsion (he thought they mean _spoiled bread,_ not sourdough) and Theodanis is perfectly content to not take part in the conversation, merely smiling gently.

A parade of food passes: a plate of dumplings filled with potato and covered in some sort of basil sauce, beef that had been braising in the oven since the early morning, according to Luisa — served with a salad of the ripest tomatoes Aramis had ever eaten, soft and fleshy and juicy, and lightly fried vegetable fritters — and they are meditating over a green salad when Aramis remembers the bit of jade Jaime had slipped him.

Luisa is finally relaxed, and it feels a bit like they’ve reached an intermission. Aramis knows himself — knows that if he doesn’t present it now, he won’t have the courage to bring it up.

“Theodanis,” Aramis says, and he turns his head Aramis-wards, smiling.

“Yes?” He says.

“I have something… for you.”

Luisa, from where she sits on a nearby couch, pretends she doesn’t turn her head towards them.

“Oh?” Theodanis says, his face cracking into a smile. There’s a flake of black pepper in his teeth, and Aramis laughs.

Aramis gestures, smiling, to indicate where the bit of pepper is. Theo laughs and covers his mouth as he tries to clean it out.

He smiles again and it’s gone. But then, so is Aramis’s nerves.

“You’ve got it.”

Theo sets down his fork and covers Aramis’s hand again. “What did you want to give me?”

Aramis reaches down with his unheld hand, and pulls out the piece of jade. He’s - well, he hands it to Theo and hopes it pleases him.

Theodanis takes it in both hands, cupping it gently, bringing it close to his face.

HIs head cocks, and the easy smile falls off his face.

He picks it up, and Aramis can feel that hot bubble of shame, deep in his lungs.

Theodanis is careful in inspecting it, runs his fingers over the facets defining the ox. The small pieces where a polishing cloth couldn’t reach, and the jade is still stone-soft.

And then, on Theo’s face, there is a smile again. But not the easy smile, no — this smile is softer, warmer. This is Theo, not the Duke.

“It’s lovely.”

He’d never noticed, but Theo’s eyes are a very pretty color — the color of strong coffee, just as warm and just as exciting. They hold his gaze.

“Thank you. I feel as though you’ll be watching over me, now.”

Aramis laughs, that bubble of shame bursting and suffusing into his cheeks.

“I like oxen,” Theo continues, ”A very old version of the Abele family crest contain oxen, did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Aramis says, shaking his head a little, “I just - loved the design.”

Theodanis laughs, “I appreciate the gift immensely. I wonder if I could wear it over my uniform?”

Experimentally, he hangs it over his neck, over his thin tie.

“I think you could!” Aramis exclaims, startling himself with his eagerness, “If you wanted to wear it.”

“Of course. My lover gave it to me.”

His cheeks get even hotter.

“And if people ask?”

“Then I’ll answer. I don’t intend for you to be a secret, Aramis.”

Luisa laughs, seamlessly situating herself between their chair, plucking the amulet from Theo’s hands.

“You have good taste, Aramis. In jewelry and in men.”

Aramis giggles and Theodanis groans into his hand, hiding a smile.

“Theo, didn’t you have something to give to your beloved?” Luisa says, smirking.

He groans. “Luisa,” he whines, “it was a _secret_.”

Luisa sets the amulet on the counter and flits away, escaping Theo’s swatting hand, giggling the way back into the kitchen.

Aramis turns back to him. “It’s no worry, if you-“

“No. I want you to have it.”

Theodanis pulls a simple box from his pocket, and presents it to Aramis.

The box is pretty, simple — in soft satin.

Aramis opens it to find a pin, something soft and enameled, with what looks like a crest.

“Is this-?”

“The Abele herald, yes.”

Aramis plucks the pin — so small — out of its box, and uncaps the back. Gently, he presses it through his lapel, and closes it again.

“How does it look?” Aramis says. His voice is too quiet.

“Very lovely.”


	5. Chapter 5

They take their time walking back. Under Aramis’s arm is a waxed card box, with delicate cups of a pudding Luisa called panna cotta inside. They had —somehow — had more food after all that, fruit and cheeses and a thing called zeppole — a fried pastry filled with custard. They had also had coffee — Aramis was no slouch when it came to coffee, loved the almost thick brew sailors made in handled pots, but even this was a little strong for him. When Luisa offered foamed milk, he gladly accepted, and they’d laughed when a bit clung to his upper lip.

It was hard to miss Theodanis’s wondering look, the way his eyes traced Aramis’s mouth.

They had also had a little drink. It had been bitter, then sweet. Not bittersweet, not melding like that, but distinctly bitter, then sweet.

The night is gentle around them. Theo had offered his arm, and Aramis had taken his hand instead.

Theo’s hand is sweaty.

They don’t say much. The world bustles around them. That short walk seems so much longer.

People are out on their porches. Lights are being lit, strung along the eaves of roofs and on the balconies where people sit. People laugh, people drink, people live.

Karnaca is beautiful, Aramis thinks, in a way that Morley could never hope to be. Morley is stunning, at times, if you’re standing in the vale and you suddenly look up and realize that the whole world is green around you, and the hills you climb every day tower up so high, and the wool is sturdy and thick and dyed with the sort of hearty care that could only come from a place so ensconced by fog. But Karnaca is alive. Filled to the brim with people, and immigrants, and products from everywhere and ideas from everywhere. And yet Karnaca is one idea, a warm, sunny place where joy is important. There is so much wrong, but it’s out in the open — Paolo, the mob boss, is friends with him. He thinks even Theo knows Paolo, accepts that Paolo is doing what he does.

Aramis slows to a stop in a square, surrounded on all sides by buildings, lit with beautiful glass bulbs, a fountain burbling in its center. Theo eyes him curiously, smiling.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Aramis says.

Theo squeezes his hand, running his thumb against his knuckles.

There are more thoughts after that, but he’s stumped on which to say.

But, thinking more, he finds he doesn’t have to say any of them.

He turns to Theo and smiles. Theo smiles back, that soft smile, all warm.

“I’m glad you’re here too.”

How did he get so lucky? Could a younger Aramis have ever imagined that at 24 he would be living somewhere nice, in Karnaca, with the Duke of Serkonos as his lover?

 _Everything will be well,_ Aramis sends to his younger self.

“I suppose I should say good night.”

Theodanis shrugs. “Unfortunately.”

Aramis bows shallowly, and murmurs, “Thank you for the meal.”

“We’ll have to go again,” Theo says, “Tell Luisa what you thought of the panna cotta.”

 _I don’t want to leave_ , Aramis thinks. His hand — betrayer — stays linked with Theo’s.

“It’s hard to say goodbye, isn’t it?” Theo says. That lovely color comes to his cheeks, and he smiles.

Aramis giggles. “It is. But we have to do it.”

Theo unlinks their fingers, and sighs.

“When are you available? I’d like to do this again soon,” he says, and fiddles with his collar. “Unless you don’t want to…?”

“I do! Of course I do,” Aramis assures, “Next Friday I have the full day off.”

“Then we’ll do something.”

There’s a sort of still, almost-awkward, mostly-sweet moment.

“See you soon,” Theo says, voice barely a murmur.

“See you soon,” Aramis repeats, dumbly.

Theo leans down and presses a kiss to Aramis’s hairline.

“Bye,” Theo says, walking away quickly and stiffly.


	6. Condolences and Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //kicks in door  
> hey whassup im back  
> Sorry for the delay on this chapter, these two just wouldn't work with me for a while so I didn't know how to go on. But this is a pretty long one and it has some genuine feeeeeeelingssss.  
> Specific chapter content tags are: Minor character death (canon), complicated father-son feelings, Radanis is a sociopath and Luca's just dumb and impressionable

It’s a while until Theodanis calls upon him again.

In the meantime, Aramis flits from situation to situation, holds a work holiday for his employees, solves a few more problems —he acquires a new teacher for the children’s school, and sources out a doctor for the pensioned folks living nearby. Thankfully there aren’t any more real situations, no more collapses or gas leaks, just some minor things.

The thrum of work keeps him from being too bored, which he’s quite thankful for.

He spends a long evening in the company of Jaime, after pulling the custard cups from Luisa from the ice box.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Mister Stilton.”

Aramis…

Well, Aramis sort of shifts in his seat, a heat spreading under his ribs — not the feeling of Theodanis’s smile, but not the feeling of the nobility’s laughter. Something confused, but… proud?

“What makes you say that?” he asks, turning to look at Jaime.

“Well,” Jaime says, scraping the edge of the custard with his spoon, taking the smallest portion he can, “You always do good for someone else. Now you’re doing good for you.”

Aramis flushes.

Jaime continues, “It’s fun. When you came in the other night — I could see it. He makes you have fun.”

And the two of them level their eyes at each other, and Aramis notices, not for the first time, that Jaime’s eyes are green.

“You can call me Aramis when we’re alone. Do you drink anymore, Jaime?”

A smile appears on Jaime’s face.

“I do, sir.”

Aramis fetches some bottles of beer — the strong stuff from Morley, thick and milky, stuff that hits the stomach like a meal. He tosses a bottle like he’s tossing a pick and Jaime, instinctively, catches it.

They both pause, then laugh.

“It’s been too long for that to be so well-done,” Jaime says, laughing, “Can’t ever forget the mines, can you?”

“Could say the same to you,” Aramis chuckles, that little shine of accent coming to his speech.

“Ay, you could,” Jaime says, smiling, “The mines’ll be in my blood til I die. So’ll the image of that strong, brave Morlian boy come to pull me out from the mine.”

“I only did what was right,” Aramis says, smiling gently.

“You did, you did, but that’s what you are, cariño.“

And they drink, and Jaime tells him about a Karnaca he’ll never know, a Karnaca with the previous Abele, not a bad leader but one who preferred to keep to his horse-riding and idle tinkering.

Jaime tells a world where it was easy to pass over children, forget to teach them to write or read — “I’m glad for the teacher you’ve got me, Aramis,” Jaime says, in his second language, his first coming slower these days.

“There are people looking at us, now,” he says, taking larger scoops of the panna cotta now, “ People like you, like the Duke, like Miss Pastor who look at us and see people, not wretches they had nothing to do with. We’re noticed.”

Aramis smiles, sipping his beer slowly. Thick, creamy, mild. His parents certainly knew how to brew.

“I don’t know what the end is for two men in love, but I wish you and the Duke can reach it. The two of you’ll be a true good on the world.”

That warmth under his ribs return, but this time with the sort of soft burn in his sinuses that predict crying. Jaime is his _friend_ , not only his servant — and Jaime wants him to be happy.

It’d been a long time since anyone wanted him to be happy.

Successful, or noble, or industrious, sure. But happy? No, not really.

Jaime sits there, watching him evenly, his dun brown hair pulled away from his face and crushed knee barely noticeable under his clothing.

“Thank you,” Aramis finally manages to get out.

Jaime rests a paternal hand on his knee, nodding slowly.

He keeps telling stories, late into the night, until they’re both dead tired and it’s too dark for anyone.

Aramis keeps that gentle warmth with him.

 

—

 

Theodanis calls on him a week after that.

Theodanis, when he comes, in in complete black.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact,” he says.

Aramis swallows.

“Someone passed away?”

“Yes. Radanis was killed.”

Jaime, from where he stands, and another young servant Amelia, who was coming to take his jacket, both freeze.

Aramis, however, nods.

“My deepest condolences. Do you have the time to stay for tea?”

Theodanis’s somber look lightens slightly.

“I do. I don’t have much time but… it’s good to see you again.”

Aramis smiles a little, hesitantly, resting a hand on Theodanis’s forearm.

“Jaime, if you could?” Aramis says, and Jaime nods.

“I’ll have Miss Amelia bring it to you?” He replies. He gestures with his canes, as if explaining to Theodanis that _My hands are full most of the time._

“That’s perfect. Thank you.”

Theodanis follows him to his study — the little place that was his, that few could go in, so he didn’t have to gussy up the place, make it look acceptable. It’s all dark wood and bookcases, with the sort of heavy, black-lacquered desk that looks like it’ll last longer than the house around it. It’s a mess, with a carpet of important papers he has to step around to keep unmarred.

“Sorry,” he says, leading Theodanis in, picking up a few of the papers to make a clear path for him.

“No it’s… fine,” Theodanis says. When Aramis turns back, there’s a little smile on Theodanis’s lips, but as soon as their eyes meet, Theodanis looks away and the smile fades.

“I need to be up-front. I can’t- continue courting you for some time. Now that I’m in mourning.”

The room goes still. Aramis pauses picking up a paper. Theodanis maintains that faded, solemn look.

Aramis straightens up. He finds the back of his neck breaks into a sweat.

Is it an excuse? A tactic to gradually let him go, pretend that emotions changed rather than — the alternative, never having liked Aramis at all, or discovered that he might like broad and russet but not Aramis’s broad and russet.

He swallows, and stands up, meeting Theodanis’s eyes. “Understandable. A year then?”

“Only three months before we can resume. Deep mourning is shorter in Karnaca. And nine months of half.”

Aramis nods. Three months is — shorter.

That doubtful voice is quieted. Three months is a lot shorter time to pretend “emotions changed” rather than break a relationship off. Aramis feels — dirty, and icky for thinking of such a thing in Theo’s grief, but it’s hard to believe that a Duke’s love is nothing but folly when you’re so plain.

“I-“ Theodanis starts and then sits back against a side table, pressing his face into his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m just so overwhelmed.”

Aramis goes over to him, running a hand over his arm. “I think that’s normal.”

“It was such a- surprise. But the worst part of it all is that I don’t feel as distraught as I think I should.”

Aramis cocks his head and runs his hand down from Theodanis’s shoulder now, as Theodanis’s arms go limp by his sides.

“Radanis was- Radanis was cruel. Luca is cruel, but Radanis was different, remorseless. He was killed, by the friend of an urchin he and Luca had killed. Gristol insists they’ll continue to look for his killer but there’s no way I could tell them to just call it off, because I understand that friend’s feelings more than my own son’s,” Theodanis says, the words falling like tears, confounding tears, “But I still am mourning, because that was my _son._ I loved him, no matter what he did, even if I had to keep looking for places that would take him and make him a better man, a better person, I loved him.”

Aramis loops his arms around Theodanis’s neck, rubbing his back slowly.

“It’s okay,” he says, lost for other words.

Theodanis returns the embrace, resting his forehead against Aramis’s collarbone.

“Callas is beside herself,” Theodanis says, words muffled in Aramis’s jacket, “He _bashed the girl’s head in._ I thought he could be kind, that if he just had the right tutelage, he would turn out alright. But he was-“

Aramis takes one of his trembling hands, and hums, just letting him know he’s listening.

“He was so cruel. When I saw his body-“

There’s a timid knock at the door.

Theodanis looks up, his eyes wet. Quickly, he rubs his eyes, pushing away the tears, but Aramis hushes him, gestures for him to stay as he is.

Aramis opens the door just enough, Theodanis hidden away behind the hinges. Amelia is there, tiny and young and the daughter of another miner, learning the trade of domestic servitude.

“Thank you, Amelia.”

“I brought willow’s tea. Jaime said it was good for mourning and pain. I brought chamomile too if’n the Duke don’t want any strange tea.”

“I think His Grace will be fine with it. You’re very thoughtful to do this for him,” Aramis says, attempting to take the serving tray from her. She doesn’t quite let go.

“I can take it from here, Amelia,” he says, and Amelia shakes her head.

“It wouldn’t be proper, Mister Stilton.”

Aramis smiles. “It’s alright. To tell you the truth,” he leans in close and murmurs, “The Duke is rather teary, and might be embarrassed if you came in right now.”

Amelia seems to get it, and nods sharply, handing off the tray to Aramis and turning on her heel to return to whatever other duty his housekeeper has for her.

Aramis closes the door with his foot.

“Did you have to mention the tears?” Theodanis groans, a couple having spilled when Aramis wasn’t looking. The tears settled into his beard, sparkling there.

“Amelia has a strong sense of duty. She’ll only let go of her jobs if she’ll embarrass someone by doing it.”

Theodanis scrubs his cheeks, ridding himself of his tears. A tentative smile comes to his face, a little thing.

“You have such an interesting staff.”

“It comes with having such and interesting master,” Aramis says, half-joking. He opens the pot and smells the willow bark tea, familiar from the mining commissary, where miners drank the stuff by the potful to ease their aches and pains.

He pours out a cup for Theodanis and hands it to him.

“I think Jaime honeyed it, so it shouldn’t be too strong,” he says.

He pours himself one too, and sips ungingerly from the cup.

The taste is strong, and woody as one would expect, but it feels good to drink it again.

Carefully, Theodanis sniffs it, trying to be discrete — and then sips, gently.

When he swallows, his face screws up — not much, but definitely enough that Aramis starts to regret. But Theodanis’s tears start again, and he sips again, and then he’s crying into his drink, sobbing softly.

Aramis ushers him over to the couch, ignoring the papers for once, sitting down beside him and rubbing his back.

“It’s okay,” Aramis murmurs, totally at a loss, “It’s alright.”

Theo looks foreign crying like this. Somehow his crying is elegant, like him, but raw. In this cocoon of books and papers and sturdy wood, the Duke of Serkonos is weeping.

And Aramis, if he’s honest, finds it beautiful.

“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, placing an arm around Theo’s waist.

“He was my _son,”_ he sobs, setting down his teacup with a trembling hand, covering his face like a despondent child.

“I know,” Aramis murmurs.

“Radanis,” he weeps.

“I know.”

Theo cries for a while. It’s not hard to be there, to slowly drag his hand down Theo’s back, to murmur words that are no consolation. Aramis — 24, a baby compared to Theodanis — can’t possibly imagine the pain of losing a child. Even one like Radanis. But he understands grief.

Grief so wordless and inexpressible and guilty. Grief that sneaks up and strikes fear into one’s heart. There have been nights, in the past, where the grief of the mines overtook him and he cried in the camps or cried in his office or wept in his bed, because the sadness would wait no longer. And there would be again. When his mum and da will go, when Jaime will go, even the day Theodanis would go, the grief would come hot and sudden and fully-borne, as if it had been with him the whole time and simply was waiting for a reminder.

Aramis finds himself crying.

He leans his head into Theo’s shoulder, still running his hand down softly, and lets the tears spring. Lets them well up sharp and stinging, lets them slough down across his cheeks, listens to Theo sob, and then slowly, quiet more and more.

When Theo finally calms, Aramis does too. They take a deep breath each, sighing.

“Thank you,” Theodanis says, voice warbling.

“Of course,” Aramis answers, a similar tremor in his voice.

“You didn’t have to cry,” Theo says, pulling away from Aramis to wipe his cheek.

“No, but,” And here Aramis lies, just a little, ignoring the fear, “I thought it would help.”

Aramis takes his handkerchief from his pocket, and gently dabs it against Theo’s puffy eyes.

Theodanis smiles, for the first time since he’d arrived, and takes Aramis’s wrists gently.

“I’ll miss you. I’ll miss you so much,” he says, smoothing his thumbs over his skin.

“Me too,” Aramis says.

“Would you come to the wake?”

“If it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“No- no, I want you there. You’re-“

Theo pauses. No, Theo doesn’t pause, but stop. That dusky pink color comes to his cheeks again.

“It- It would just be nice to have you there,” he says, “Callas and I will be able to get through this but you- you lessen the grief.”

“I’ll be there.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if y'all have ideas for ~romantic adventures~ Theo and Aramis can get up to. I have a place I want to head with this but not too many stops along the way.  
> Rating and tags will update with more chapters.  
> Please leave kudos and comments, should you be so inclined!


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